


Secrets

by Saraste



Series: Femslash February 2016 [19]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/F, Femslash February, Fluff, Girls loving girls loving girls, Margaery is wicked, Sansa wants to try eating her out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-21 22:22:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6060187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saraste/pseuds/Saraste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa and Margaery are in bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fic on the evening of my birthday, wishing I had a Margaery of my own. My headcanons are a horrid mix of ASoIAF & GoT, leaning towards the latter when ages are concerned. Margaery is delectable. Sansa doesn't know anything about nothing.

Sometimes, Sansa wonders how her life came to became as it did. She knows that she isn’t entirely blameless with some things, but she’s learned to be better, to keep her secrets to herself, trusting no-one.

 

Well, no-one and Margaery.

 

Even when it sometimes feels like trusting Margaery is one of the stupidest things that Sansa has done during her young life. For Margaery Tyrell, on her way to the throne, is trouble. Mostly because Sansa loves her and is in lust for her, Margaery having woken parts of her which Sansa had not known existed, before.

 

Sansa spends most nights in Margaery’s bed, somewhat shielded by the notion of pillow-friends, which in her and Margaery’s case includes a lot of kissing, wandering hands and deep dark touches to places Sansa once thought she would have saved for her husband.

 

Now, well… 

 

Margaery is always scheming, isn’t she?

 

Sansa’s head trashes on the pillow as Margaery is once again between her legs, kissing her secret places, twirling a tongue inside and, in short, making Sansa come apart.

 

“Margaery…” she moans the other’s name, gasping for breath, in vain. Her breath has been stolen eons ago by wicked, indecent yet perfect kisses, by Margaery plucking at her pleasure like strings on a lute.

 

“Hmm…” her lover hums, her mouth moving away.

 

Sansa doesn’t want it to move anywhere!

 

“Don’t stop…”

 

Margaery kisses her shivering thigh. “Wouldn’t have if you hadn’t spoken, Sansa dearest,” 

 

Laughing eyes look up at Sansa, who lets her own eyes feast upon Margaery’s nakedness. She can let herself, now, having overcome her initial prudence. She looks freely, now, feeling herself shudder all over at the sight of uncovered breasts and when…

 

Ohh… 

 

Margaery is yet untouched.

 

“Can I try?” Sansa brushed her own pleasure to the background,  _ needing _ to make Margaery reach that elusive peak, that moment of pure bliss. Sansa is somewhat experienced in matters of the flesh now, but this is something that she has yet to do.

 

“You don’t have to if you don’t really want to,” Margaery informs her, yet her husky voice belies her words. 

 

Sansa  _ knows  _ that there’s little that Margaery wouldn’t want Sansa to do to her,  _ for  _ her.

 

“I really do,” Sansa admit, feeling her cheeks flaming up, looking aside in embarrassment. Yet she is determined. And she feels a flutter somewhere deep inside at the thought.  

 

Margaery nods and they change places in a rustle of cheeks and a long kiss, Sansa tasting herself on Margaery’s lips, gripping her tighter for a deeper kiss. Eventually, Margaery is laying on the sheets, her legs spread in invitation, the moist curls at the apex of her thighs Sansa’s focus. 

 

Sansa’s clumsy when she settles  herself between Margaery’s thighs, Margaery guiding her just where she wants her. And then… Sansa’s lips press hesitantly and she wonders why she ever waited to do this. Margaery is moist against her lips, her secret feeling different than what it does when Sansa uses her fingers. Margaery sounds different too, more wanton, if that’s possible. 

 

Sansa hums and bends down to her task, eager and resolved if not entirely knowledgeable at what to do. Judging from Margaery, she’s doing at least something right. 

 

“Sansa, SANSA!”

 

Margaery climaxes under her lips, after just a few hesitant licks, and a flick of Sansa’s own fingers makes her come undone too.

 

She cannot wait to do that again.


End file.
